Spring Fever Blues
by vlalekat
Summary: Nora's been undercover in the Institute for a while. Piper misses her and handles it poorly. Sequel to Baby, It's Cold Outside.


**Notes:** I'm back, y'all.

This story takes place after _Baby, It's Cold Outside._

* * *

 **Early Spring, 2288**

It's been nearly two months since the last time she laid eyes on Nora, and just over a month since the last news came from the Railroad. Piper's been restless all day, going from her small kitchen to the sofa, from the sofa to the terminal – she really should be writing, but she can't seem to focus – and back again. It's why she finally gives up and goes to the Dugout; the minute she walks in the door, she regrets it. It's too loud and busy to be there alone. Or maybe that's just the combination of wistfulness and too much Bobrov's best.

The memory of Nora, walking up the stairs and out of Diamond City, haunts her. The curves of her body in that suit, the sway of her hips. The way she'd paused at the top of the stairs, turned back, and blew a kiss just for Piper before Danny Sullivan let her out the gate. Piper had stood there for a long time after, waiting for Nora to come back and tell her it was all a mistake.

But she hadn't.

Some Railroad agent – when they came through together, Nora had called him Deacon, and Deacon had called her Wanderer, so Piper had no doubt that was a fake name – had shown up a few weeks later. He wouldn't answer any questions she'd asked him but just told her that they had reason to believe Nora was okay, that she'd made it safely to the Institute.

Piper had turned around, a retort about "safe" and "the Institute" being an oxymoron, but the guy was already gone, like a puff of smoke off the cigarette he'd had.

Since then she's had a hard time focusing. When Nora left, the ground was still a half-frozen slurry of ice and mud; now it's soft and almost warm, and birds sing every morning when she gets up. The folks who work the land in the old outfield told her the other day that it's time to start planting.

Two months, and no Blue.

The door of The Dugout swings open and the sound shifts for a moment with the change in the air current. There's the click of heels on the worn linoleum, and then the babble of the crowd returns to normal volume as the door shuts. Someone settles on the seat next to her, but Piper can't take her eyes off the drink in front of her.

"Ellie!" Vadim's voice is too loud, Piper thinks sourly. Sounds like a synth's voice. The idea makes her laugh, stupid as it is. "Is too long since you visit your old friend Vadim!"

To Piper's left comes a voice. A familiar one, one that she hasn't heard as much of in the last few months.

Ever since Blue started coming around.

"Hey, Vadim." There's a laugh in Ellie's voice. She sounds happy. "Could I just get a beer, please? And another round for Piper?"

Vadim scoffs and – for once – lowers his voice. Still, even with the sound turned down, Piper can hear him say something about how Piper's done for the night. Something something, worry about her getting home later, something something, what if she gets hurt.

Like she lives across the damn Charles or something. No bridges between her and her bed, no super mutants, nothing that could kill her except the soft mud outside. No sir.

"Don't worry," Ellie says, softly. Sweetly. "I'll make sure Piper gets home okay. Go ahead and give her one more. On me."

When the drink lands in front of her, Piper finishes off the one she's been holding. Vadim frowns at her and takes her empty glass. She should do the polite thing and thank Ellie – a class act, that one – but it seems to take a half hour just to turn her head.

"Thank you," she finally says, relieved to notice she barely slurs. Ellie gives her a bit of a smile and holds out a packet of cigarettes. They're old just like everything else in this godforsaken world, and a bit loose, but the rush of the stale nicotine in her lungs makes up for all ills. Ellie even lights it for her like the debonair gentlemen in an old holo, as if Piper were Jean Harlow or Lauren Bacall.

"I know it's been hard on you, with Nora gone." That's one thing she's always liked about Ellie: the girl doesn't tiptoe around things. Not like her. Oh, sure, Piper will talk about the facts easily enough, and asking hard questions of other people has never been difficult. But the way she feels about people, about events? Her own tender spots? No, those she guards as if they could destroy her.

Maybe they could.

She nods. No point in lying. "Yeah."

"What have you been doing with yourself?" Ellie's eyes are big, brown, bottomless; her brows knit with concern. She sips her drink delicately.

Piper shrugs, catches herself before she falls off the barstool, and tries to play it like she was merely playing at being clumsy. There's too many Ellies in front of her to be sure if she's pulled it off – probably not – but that's okay. Of the three Ellies sitting at the bar, probably none of them is likely to judge her.

"This and that," she slurs, and there's a softening around Ellie's eyes. Piper takes another slow drag on her cigarette, nicotine going straight to her head, and grins. "You know, picking fights with people you shouldn't pick fights with."

"I hear you and McDonough got into it again today."

Of course; everyone in town has probably heard about that by now. But with Nora in the Institute – at least, hopefully in the Institute – her favorite Big Bad is effectively off-limits.

"He needs to tell the truth." Piper reaches out towards her drink and missing. She's misjudged her own power, too, and instead of wrapping around the glass, her fingers hit it hard and send it flying off the bar.

At a grumbling sound from Vadim, Ellie gives her a heavy sigh and downs what remains of her drink in one gulp. Ellie's fingers, cold from the glass and strong from typing, wrap around Piper's elbow, and then suddenly she's on her feet. Part of her wants to throw a final warning shot at Vadim, but she can't seem to get her words together, and then suddenly they're outside.

It's chilly, as spring often is, with the smell of brahmin shit lingering in the air.

"This stinks," she said, letting Ellie drag her away from The Dugout, down the alley, and towards the market.

It's her favorite way to see Diamond City, long after the stalls have closed and everyone has gone into their shacks, or to The Dugout for a drink, or – for those too big for their britches - to the Colonial Taphouse. The only people out walking this time of night are hurrying from one place to another, heads down against the soft rain that's just started, or Security. At Power Noodles, Takahashi stands a silent sentinel, the occasional raindrop making it through the tattered red awning to plink against its steel exterior. From the radio at John and Kathy's, Piper can hear the smooth baritone of "Sixty Minute Man" entreating her to come up and see Old Dan.

With no one in the market, it's quiet. With it quiet, Piper can be sure that for once no one is lying to her.

Ellie is warm against her, their arms entwined, as they head towards the Publick Occurences office. Piper's hip bumps Ellie's, and she lets out a giggle. Across the market, a member of D.C. Security's finest glowers at them; before Piper can give him the finger, Ellie drags her into Moe's stall for a moment.

Pressed together, damp and cool and clammy, Piper finally stops thinking. Instead she catches Ellie's eyes – huge and sparkling in the lights gleaming from the noodle stand – and catches Ellie's hand in her own.

"We –" That's as far as Ellie gets before Piper kisses her, pressing their bodies together. Between her legs there's a twinge, a memory unspooling from the base of her spine.

Then Ellie pulls back.

"Why didn't it work out between us?"

Ellie's laugh stings; there's a bitterness to it that Piper hadn't anticipated.

"You don't know?"

Piper shakes her head mutely. She considers going in for another kiss, then checks herself as she sees the expression on Ellie's face change.

"I can't believe you." Ellie jerks away from her. The sparkle in her eyes has shifted; it's dangerous now, spiteful. No, not spiteful, but certainly angry.

I'm a writer. How've I lost my words?

"I –"

"You've got some nerve, Piper Wright." She does, doesn't she? Even if she doesn't know why in this instance.

"What did I –"

Ellie sighs, her body quivering, and wraps her arms around herself. Hands under her elbows, shoulders shaking. There's something childlike about her posture, something vulnerable. Piper reaches out, lays a timid hand on Ellie's shoulder, and tries not to let out a hot sigh of relief when it isn't rebuffed.

"I'm trying to be your friend here," Ellie finally says, her eyes darting up to meet Piper's. "I'm trying to keep you from going completely off the rails, and it's not easy when I still love you."

Piper nearly falls over into the display of swatters Moe has set along his side of the stand. She catches herself at the last moment, and it's a good thing, too, or they'd have to run for it.

"You still…?"

Ellie nods, miserable. "God help me, I do."

This is a lot to swallow. Piper looks up at her and realizes, suddenly, that she still loves Ellie to. It's not the fire she feels for Nora; there's no butterflies in her stomach, no nervousness or fear of losing her. It's something different, something she hadn't recognized for what it was until now. It's something steady and strong and calming, something as unchangeable as the flow of the Charles out to sea.

"I think I love you, too."

Ellie leans forward then, and kisses her. Piper shivers; inside her skin there's a feeling like ice in her veins. Is it the kiss, or the rain?

Does it even matter?

"Come home with me," Ellie breathes against her mouth, and Piper nods before she can think about it. There's a burst of excitement, hands clasped together, and then they're wandering though the dark alleys to the brilliant pink arrow that points to Valentine's office. She's so close to Ellie that she can feel her heart beat through the skin of her back, and instead of walking through the door, Piper puts a hand on Ellie's shoulder and turns her. She slips between her legs, supple as a fish, and then her lips are on Ellie's throat, her hand on her shoulder, their fingers still entwined.

This was how it's meant to be; hot breath and passion and the woman she loves in her arms, where she belongs.

It was just me and a thousand guinea pigs. They turned…carnivorous.

Piper jumps; it sounds as if the voice is just over her shoulder, but how can that be? Nora is squirreled away in the Institute, or dead, or a figment of her overactive imagination. Still, for a moment she can see the smirk Nora had given her as she'd said that, could hear the snarky tone her voice took as she cracked a joke.

Can hear the way she opened up when she'd gotten that out of her system. Can see her tanned fingers twisting a wet handkerchief between them.

"I can't."

Ellie pulls back. For a moment, Piper imagines she can see her frown, but if she does, it's gone in a moment. Ellie's not the type to bear a grudge, after all.

"Nora?"

All Piper can manage is a nod. Ellie looks at her a moment longer, then leans forward, pressing a kiss to the side of Piper's neck. For all that her lips linger there, it's a surprisingly chaste gesture. With a sigh, Ellie pulls back.

"Should I walk you home?"

Biting her lip so hard it hurts, Piper shakes her head. If this stays here, in this alley, with Ellie pressed against Valentine's rusted iron door, it's a fiction. It could have happened to someone else.

"No, I should go home alone."

Concern is etched across Ellie's face, but she nods just the same. "If you say so."

There's a squeeze of hands together, and then Piper takes a step back.

"I'm –"

"Don't apologize. It's not like you."

She stands there long enough to watch Ellie open the door, walk through it, and close it carefully without looking at her. She waits until there's the solid thunk of the deadbolt hitting home, and then Piper slips her hands in her pockets and begins the slow, lazy, dejected walk back to the office.

Mud splashes her boots; her clothes are soaked through. She hopes Nat is safe and warm, snuggled up in her bed.

The door opens with difficulty; she has to use her shoulder, slamming into twice in just the right place, and then Piper's stumbling drunkenly into her own place. She slides the wet scarf from her neck, lets it drop to the floor. Her jacket follows – she should hang it up, but it's just so much trouble – and then she collapses onto the couch to untie her boots before heading upstairs.

She's just straightened the boots at the end of the couch and is debating the merits of sleeping down here instead of trying to navigate the ladder when the door swings open again. Hair slicked down to her head, make-up smeared, looking for all the world like a drowned rat, is Nora.

Nora.

"It's you," Piper breathes. It takes her another moment to see the look on the woman's face as she lets the door swing shut. Hovering somewhere between existential exhaustion and bleary delight, Nora's face can't seem to decide what she's feeling.

"It's you," she says back. She takes three steps forward and drops into Piper's arms. If her face is wet from rain or tears, Piper can't be sure; either way, she's soaked and sad and it's all Piper can do to rub her wet back and let Nora cry into her shoulder. She pats one tense shoulder. She kisses Nora's cheek. She thinks of how she nearly fucked up tonight and nearly weeps herself.

When Nora is calmer, she pulls back, wiping tears and rain and mascara from her eyes with the back of one hand. She looks different. Smaller.

Piper's heart skips a beat, and she wonders how she could have ever wanted anything but this.

"Welcome home."


End file.
